


Iceland Becomes Obsessed with Vaporwave and Tears the Family Apart

by pyrrhocorax (mniotilta)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mniotilta/pseuds/pyrrhocorax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kind of a sequel to “Norway Discovers Nightcore and Ruins Everything” but with vaporwave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iceland Becomes Obsessed with Vaporwave and Tears the Family Apart

**Author's Note:**

> I’m glad I can use my one semester of elementary Japanese for something.
> 
> I wrote 99% of this while slightly inebriated (drink responsibly if you're of age my dudes!!!) a month or two ago with very little editing that I've just done after waking up from an accidental nap so I don't care if it's garbage, it's crack anyway.

Like many things, it started innocently. How many times have you been wandering around on the information superhighway and discover something that speaks to your soul? Maybe fanart of a show you never watched sparks your interest and you marathon the whole thing until 3am where tears cling to your eyes at the satisfying conclusion. Maybe you are randomly typing things into the searchbar and discover your new favorite band by a series of errors. It’s all accidental but it feels like it was meant to be.   
  
This is how Iceland felt about vaporwave, staring at his computer screen as it filled with pastel hues and slow paced tunes.   


* * *

“What do you want to drink with dinner?” Finland asked, smiling.   
  
“Water,” Iceland replied, looking at something on his phone and not paying attention while the table was set in front of him. As the nordic five came together and began to eat, Iceland took a drink of water and immediately spat it out, slamming the plastic glass with images of the Disney princesses on it down hard before sweeping it off the table with his hand and sending water flying everywhere.   
  
“What _ is  _ this?” Iceland glared. “I told you water, Fin!”   
  
“It is water, though! What’s wrong?”   
  
“I thought I told you, I can only drink Fiji water!”   
  
And so the descent into madness began.   


* * *

So Fiji water became stockpiled in the empty corners of the kitchen of every single nordic. They loved Iceland and if Iceland decided he wanted to drink artesian water, it would be done. If he asked for Greco-Roman marble busts they would pay top dollar to make sure he got the best ones. If he asked for a computer that ran Windows 95 for his birthday, they’d be confused as to why, in the year of 2016, he’d want such an awful operating system, but they’d do it without questioning him.   
  
He called Norway up one day.   
  
“Hey, you know a lot about plants and nature things, right?”   
  
“I suppose.”   
  
“Is it possible to grow palm trees in Iceland?”   
  
“In a greenhouse, perhaps.”   
  
“No, I mean, like, everywhere. The whole island.”   
  
“You do realize you live in a subarctic climate, right? Tropical plants aren’t going to grow.”   
  
Silence on the line.   
  
“Okay, thanks. I got an idea.”   
  
And Iceland hangs up.   
  
When the five of them go and visit Iceland a month later, the streets of Reykjavik are filled with plastic, imitation palm trees.   


* * *

The outside of Iceland’s house was painted in pastel pinks, purples, and blues.   
  
The inside was just as vibrant, covered in printouts of badly rendered dolphins, floral designs superimposed on corporate logos, and mountainscapes arcing across some of the walls.   
  
Sweden tried to break the tension, asking Iceland (who was dressed in pink tights and a large turquoise sweater with images of guns, nokia phones, and warped Japanese text with the word “DEATH” in glitter following it) how he was doing.   
  
“エステティック,” Iceland said, not breaking eye contact with Sweden before pouring a bottle of Fiji water over the Greco-Roman statue next to him that blocked half the doorway leading to the bathroom.   
  
“Your place is… nice?” Denmark tried, batting away a large palm frond hanging from the ceiling.    
  
“お父さん, 僕はMACINTOSHが大好き.”   
  
“What did he say?” Denmark whispered, turning to Norway.   
  
“Do I look like I speak that?”   
  
“I don’t know. Maybe?”   
  
“What is all of this, anyway,” Finland asked, gesturing to a pile of smashed TV sets several feet high in place of Iceland’s old entertainment system.    
  
“それはセアプンックですか？いいえ、それはヴァぽるわゔです.”   
  
“Ice, please talk to us in a language we understand!” Denmark wailed, starting to cry. But Iceland just stared at him, pulling out pastel turquoise sunglasses with rose-tinted lenses and putting them over his eyes. The Iceland they had known was gone. There was only vaporwave. Slow electronic sounding music wafted through the silence from some far off room.   
  
“You know,” Norway said, lazily grinning, elbowing Iceland in the rib, “you know what would be pretty vaporwave? Calling me your big brother.”   
  
Iceland became flustered, breaking into normal speech. “A-absolutely not! How is that even vaporwave?”   
  
“Y’know, if you said it, like, in an ironic way, and for outdated nostalgia’s sake. That’s pretty vaporwave if you ask me.”   
  
“Is not!”   
  
“I think I could enjoy this vaporwave thing too,” Norway said, going over to Iceland’s fridge, pulling out a bottle of Fiji water, and pouring it over his own head. “Am I aesthetic now?”   
  
“No!”   
  
“How about now?” He stepped onto the pile of broken TVs and pulled some of the palm fronds from the ceiling.    
  
“You know,” Finland said, excitedly, “that does look pretty vaporwave! I want to try that too!” He joined Norway up on broken TV mountain and pulled out a handgun out from under his shirt.”   
  
“Why do you have a  _ handgun _ ?” said Iceland, concerned and exasperated.   
  
“Aesthetic,” Finland replied, posing with it and Norway.   
  
“That’s NOT aesthetic, that’s just weird!”   
  
“Is this aesthetic?” Denmark asked, with tears still in the corners of his eyes, pointing to his flexed bicep.   
  
“No.”   
  
“What about Sweden?”    
  
As Iceland turned around he was met face to face with Sweden who looked as if he had just from a glitter factory explosion. Even his glasses were completely covered in glitter, he had exchanged his pants for a lime green speedo somehow, and he had put on one of Iceland’s much too small sweaters (with text that said “quantum capitalism” with two rainbow trout, a marbled background, and an image of a smaller sweater saying “coke boys”), giving him a crop-top look. He took Iceland’s sunglasses right off his face and put them right over top of his regular glasses.   
  
“Aesthetic,” Sweden said as Denmark held up one of the many marble busts right next to his face.   
  
“You guys are ruining this for me!”   


* * *

And ruin it they did. Iceland admitted his idolization and obsession of vaporwave was much too great and muttered something under his breath thanking his family for the intervention, how ever ill-conceived it was. He still kept some of his vaporwave-styled clothes, but things such as the pile of smashed TVs and the fiberglass dolphin he had been keeping in his bathtub was a remnant of vaporwave ill-suited for home life and inconvenient. Cans of soda slowly replaced the Fiji water back in his home and all was seemingly back to normal.   
  
The true aesthetic, perhaps, was the friends who attempted to aesthetic with you along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> [Here’s Sweden's sweater](http://66.media.tumblr.com/282aa01143e0451fc8ff45686513d023/tumblr_oajj6drdr41qfmvmxo1_500.png) it’s my favorite vaporwave image of all time.
> 
> re: Japanese text:
> 
> エステティック = Aesthetic  
> お父さん、僕はMACINTOSHが大好き = Dad, I love Macintosh  
> それはセアプンックですか？いいえ、それはヴァぽるわゔです= Is it seapunk? No, it’s vaporwave.
> 
> Tune in next time where I may (or may not, I'm mainly posting this to narrow down my ridiculous number of WIPs) write a fic revealing a character to secretly be surrealist erotic writer Chuck Tingle.


End file.
